


Gather Ye Rosebuds

by Lucifleur



Series: Kinky Original Works [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Don't copy to other sites, Gang Rape, M/M, Monster fuckery, Mpreg, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Oviposition, Rituals, Stomach Bulge, Stretching, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucifleur/pseuds/Lucifleur
Summary: A thief is too confident in his skills and faces unforeseen consequences in the form of the cultists making him the focus of a very particular ritual.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Male Character(s), Thief/Cultists He Tried to Steal From, Thief/Tentacle God the Cultists Worship
Series: Kinky Original Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685731
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	Gather Ye Rosebuds

**Author's Note:**

> !! Contains graphic rape scenes, proceed with caution !!
> 
> Title is from a poem called To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time, by Robert Herrick, because ha ha rosebud = butthole
> 
> Irredeemable pornography, ho!

Wyn had always thought himself a good thief. Although, perhaps he wasn’t, given that this backwoods band of cultists had caught him so easily. He had only been planning to steal some food, a pair of boots if he could find any that fit, maybe a few unholy artifacts to sell later. Hardly worth all the fuss they were making over him. They had left him alone for now, in a carved stone room, an offshoot of their caves and tunnels. The room was fit with a rough iron door. Wyn’s hands were tied behind his back, and he twisted his wrists once again, but to no avail. The cord was starting to cut into his skin, and he huffed. 

Wyn couldn’t have been underground for more than about six hours, but he already missed the fresh air and open sky. He should never have listened to that damn back alley scoundrel; these cultists weren’t an easy mark at all. 

“Oh, gods damn him!” shouted Wyn. He’d been set up! But he hadn’t sensed any deceit from the man. Looking back, the cloaked man hadn’t actually said anything about getting  _ out _ of the tunnels. Damn. The door started to move, opening slowly with a horrible screeching noise of the iron grating against the stone. He winced, wishing he could press his hands to his ears. Two of the cultists were standing outside in hooded robes, a third pushing at the door. They hauled him to his feet and marched him deeper into the tunnels, arriving at a high-ceilinged cave with a stone altar in middle. Candles were set all along the walls, suffusing the room with yellow light and the scent of a plant Wyn didn’t know. They bent him over the altar, laying him on top of an animal skin. Wyn couldn’t tell what kind in the low light, but a slight smell of rot hovered around it; it hadn’t been cleaned and cured properly. 

“Send for the master,” said one of the cultists. Another of them walked off, through a different tunnel. 

“Mind telling me what you’re planning? Forty lashes, or something?” said Wyn. 

“Silence,” said the third cultist, pressing a hand to the middle of his back. Wyn rolled his eyes. Self-important bastard. Someone new walked into the cave; it had to be the master, he had fancier robes. He was an older man, and he had an intricately carved staff. 

“Show me the boy,” said the master. Wyn sensed a spike of excitement coming from the cultist holding him down as someone untied his britches and pulled them down along with his drawers, leaving him buck naked from the waist down. Wyn froze. Were they actually going to lash his bare ass? No, no, surely they would march him into town and turn him over to the Imperial Guards. The master chuckled at Wyn’s panic, walking up behind him. Wyn felt his cool, dry hands on his buttocks, and he squirmed, horrified, as the middle-aged man pulled his cheeks apart to examine him. He tried to kick, but his own britches were tangled around his ankles. The possibility of merely spending the night in a local lawman’s cell was dwindling fast. 

“Mmm, good, yes. Fetch the blessed oils,” said the master. Wyn’s eyes widened, his mind racing. 

“Hey, whoa, listen, I’m sorry I tried to steal from you, ok? I was only going to take some food,” he lied. “And you’ve made your point. I’ll be on my merry way, and I will never bother you again, I swear to the Mother.” The master laughed uproariously, resting his hand on the small of Wyn’s back, fingers creeping under his shirt.

“Oh, you misunderstand us. This is not punishment for your actions. Noxrius requires a new host to bring forth his legion,” he said. “Someone sent you to us, little thief, with promises of poorly-guarded riches, hmm?” Wyn looked away. “Don’t look like that. This is a great honor! You are nothing now, but you will have divine purpose when you take him inside you.” 

“If it’s such a great fucking honor, why don’t you do it?” snarked Wyn, looking around for a way out. 

“I don’t expect you to understand, little thief,” said the master. “Prepare him,” he added to the two cultists holding Wyn down. One of them grabbed Wyn’s bound hands and pulled upward, wrenching his shoulders to an awkward angle and effectively making it impossible for him to get up. Wyn grit his teeth, shuddering as he felt the other cultist brush their hands down the backs of his thighs. They pulled off his boots as well as his pants and underclothes. He closed his eyes. There was no way this was happening. If there had been an insane group of zealots hiding out, the Imperial Guards would have rooted them out when they took this area, right? 

Wyn felt cold metal against his spine and tensed, expecting a knife to slide under his skin, but it was only a pair of shears. The cultist cut his shirt away from his chest until he was completely bare. 

“Kneel, up on the altar,” they said, and the other one untied his hands. 

“Fuck off, you prick,” said Wyn, kicking wildly. The cultist dodged surprisingly deftly, then stepped close, grabbed his balls and squeezed. Wyn let out a strangled squeak and lay perfectly still. 

“On the altar, kneeling,” they repeated, releasing their grip. Wyn grudgingly climbed onto the altar, on all fours at first, then knelt. The cultist adjusted his stance, spreading his folded legs wider, then tied him to the altar. They cuffed his hands in front of him, then made him lower his chest to the furs, securing his hands above his head. His weight rested on his knees and elbows, and he felt completely laid bare, his ass on display. The fur tickled Wyn’s stomach and cock, and he cursed, first in his head, then aloud. The cultists ignored him. 

“Hey! Hey, let me go, you piece of shit! Your mother was a poxy whore!” shouted Wyn. The master was smiling, implacable, standing off to the side. One of the cultists drizzled a scented oil on his fingers and dragged a thumb up Wyn’s perineum to massage the oil against his asshole. Wyn’s voice caught in his throat. He had guessed where they were going with all this, but it was nevertheless a surprise to feel the man’s touch. He could feel lust rising around him, seeping from the cultists like smoke, and his skin was tingling where the oil had touched. The man pushed a finger inside him, and Wyn bit his lip at the sensation of something entering where, before, things had only... exited. The tingling spread into his rectum, and his muscles started to relax without his say so. 

“He’s responding quickly,” said the man fingering him. The master nodded. 

“Mmm, good,” he said, watching the proceedings intently. The man drew his finger out, collected more of the oil, and pressed back inside with two fingers. Wyn cried out softly at the stretch. He’d expected it to hurt, but there was only a sensation of warmth and fullness. 

“Please don’t, I don’t want this,” whimpered Wyn. The man rolled and curled his fingers, finding a spot inside him that sent a hot little twinge right to his cock. “I don’t—OH!” The man had suddenly pressed down harder, forcing a drop of precum from Wyn. 

“You’ll have a lot more fun if you let yourself enjoy this,” said the man, casually, beginning to pump his fingers in and out. 

“Please, please just let me go,” said Wyn, gritting his teeth. The man said nothing, starting to scissor his fingers open inside him. The master shifted slightly, his erection starting to tent his robes. 

“Spread some oil on his cock,” he said. The man nodded and coated his other hand in the oil and wrapped his fingers around Wyn’s not-entirely-soft dick. He worked his fingers up and down, rubbing some oil into his piss-slit, slowly jacking him. Wyn felt his cock harden almost painfully quickly and rested his forehead against the furs, trying to regulate his breathing. 

“So, tell me,” said Wyn with forced nonchalance. “Is there actually some unholy ritual you’re doing, or is this just an excuse to gang rape unwary young men?” The master stepped closer. 

“Impudent whelp,” he sneered, smacking Wyn’s buttock. Wyn felt himself clench around the other man’s fingers, and the sensation sent a fresh wave of arousal to his cock. “There is higher purpose to our actions, and you will be transformed to better serve our eternal lord.”

“I mean,” said the man, adding a third finger and watching intently as Wyn’s hole stretched to accommodate the intrusion, clenching and pulsing against him. “There’s the divine purpose, sure, but we’re all going to enjoy stretching him out, eh, lads? Giving him a good plowing?” Shouts of agreement rose from a few other cultists that Wyn hadn’t seen enter. The master chuckled indulgently.

“I suppose you all deserve a reward. Thanks to your tireless work, our plans are coming along nicely,” he said. A couple of the cultists cheered again, and Wyn rested his head on the furs beneath him, his mind racing. Maybe, if there were a moment when they let their guard down. But how would he get out of the cuffs? The man’s fingers slipped out of his asshole, and Wyn gasped involuntarily at the sudden emptiness, then bit his lip as his hole tried to wink shut, but the tingling softness spread by the oil made it difficult. The master stepped up behind him, pulling out his cock from a slit in his robes. Wyn felt something hot and hard pressing against his buttocks as the master dragged his cock along the crease of his ass. He tensed and tried again to clench, but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate. 

“Please, no, please,” gasped Wyn. Then there was mounting pressure at his hole, and with a pop, the master’s cock entered him, splitting him open and driving deep inside him. Wyn felt like the air had been punched from his lungs, and his fingers scrabbled against the furs as more and more cock pressed inside him until the he could feel a rough bush of pubic hair against his skin. His cock was hot and thick, so much deeper than the other man’s fingers had gone. “Oh, gods,” he muttered, focusing on dragging air into his lungs. The cult leader groaned and began to thrust his cock in and out, again and again. Every now and then it would press against that spot deep inside him, and Wyn would grunt as it sent a shock of pleasure up his spine. Before too long, the master’s thrusts lost their rhythm, and he buried his cock inside him as he spent himself. Wyn cursed again, under his breath, and shuddered as he felt a drop of cum ooze from his hole as the man pulled out. 

“Ahh, it’s been too long,” said the master. “Lazmer, you’re up next. The rest of you, line up by seniority.” The cultists shuffled around behind Wyn. The one who had fingered him ran a hand through his hair. 

“Think we could use his mouth?” he said. 

“If you try anything like that, I’ll bite your miserable little dick clean off,” growled Wyn. He snapped his teeth at the man, and the rest of the cultists laughed as he edged away. 

“Feisty,” chuckled Lazmer. His hard cock pressed against Wyn’s hole, sliding in faster than the master’s had. He began to fuck him leisurely, the cum making it slippery. Every thrust produced a slurping, sucking noise. Wyn pressed his hands together. 

“Great Mother,” he muttered. “Forgive me. Forgive me, I beg of you, and save me from this torment. Ah!” The man’s cock had struck the sensitive spot inside him, interrupting his prayer. Lazmer laughed. “I admit my wrongdoing, and I ask your forgiveness. I will be your humble servant if you, uhn! If you stop them, please. I do not wish to serve their dark god, please, deliver me from this.” Lazmer made a show of pausing and looking around. When nothing happened, he gave an exaggerated shrug and fucked him harder, smirking. He came soon after, pulling out with a groan. Wyn closed his eyes. 

A third man. His hole was pink and sensitive, and this man was larger, thicker. Wyn could feel an orgasm building. 

A fourth. He winced when the man entered him and came, his seed landing on the furs beneath him. Shame washed over him, and a tear escaped from the corner of his eye. Instead of softening, his cock stayed hard, bobbing back and forth as he was fucked. He tried to hold in his whimpers, and the cultists talked among themselves, saying lewd things about him and laughing. 

A fifth. A sixth. Then one of them slipped three fingers inside him, feeling his stretched rim. The man pulled his hand out, then pushed back in with four fingers. Wyn’s hole swallowed him easily, and Wyn cried out as he tucked his thumb against his palm and began pressing his knuckles into him. Wyn collapsed onto the furs, grunting and groaning. Cum and oil coated the man’s hand as he patiently worked it in and out, deeper, deeper, deeper, until Wyn’s ruined asshole closed around his knuckles, then his wrist. The man’s hand, his entire hand, was inside him, and he felt a sob threatening to overtake him. He did his best to swallow it down. 

“He’s stretching beautifully, master,” said the man. “Just look at that.” The master nodded.

“Excellent. It shouldn’t be much longer,” he said. “You, get the relic stone.” One of the other cultists scurried out of the room, but Wyn didn’t have time to ponder what the relic might be, as the hand inside him curled into a fist and pressed in deeper, deeper, gods, deeper. Wyn realized he’d been holding his breath and let it out in a rush. Wyn didn’t know much about the internal workings of the human body, but surely this shouldn’t be possible. Especially not so quickly and with so little pain, just discomfort and unwanted pleasure. It must be the special oil; he could feel the tingling spreading deeper inside him, following the man’s hand as his fingers wiggled and stroked his inner walls. Something like this should have killed him. Maybe, thought Wyn, he was already dead, and this was a vision of the afterlife, punishing him for his life as a thief. Still, he’d never heard any cautionary tales about a death that involved a man’s hand and forearm up your ass. Most of them were, well, ironic, and he couldn’t see any irony in the cum squishing around the man’s questing fingers. 

He felt a terrible squirming inside himself as his intestines reacted to the oil, reshaping his body to the mysterious purposes of the cult. He gagged at the sensation and wished he could brush the sweat from his face as a hot wash swept across his body. Then the man was pulling his hand out, and Wyn was sure his ass would turn inside out. It didn’t, however, it merely gaped open, puffy, red and abused. He sniffed, more tears running down his cheeks.

“Ah, the Seed of Noxrius,” said the cult leader as one of them scurried back into the room, carrying a stone in their arms. It was the size of a large melon, and it gleamed purple and red, crisscrossed with glyphs that Wyn didn’t recognize as he craned his neck to look behind him. What in the world were they planning on doing with that thing? Part of the unholy ritual, he was sure. Was this Noxrius going to emerge from the stone and... do something? “And now, we must anoint it.” Another of them approached and spread the oil over the stone as they all began to chant. 

“Plow the soil, plant the seed, grow the harvest! Plow the soil, plant the seed, grow the harvest!” It reverberated around the cave, but they quieted down when the stone was covered in the oil. Wyn surreptitiously pulled at his cuffs, testing where it joined the stone of the altar. They held firm, the chain rattling slightly as the cultist stepped up behind him. Something cold and huge and slick pressed against his hole, and Wyn craned his neck to stare, horrified, as the man prodded his ass with the narrow end of the stone and began to _ push. _

“No no no, you can’t! You can’t, please! I’ll break!” shouted Wyn, his voice cracking in panic. The cult leader shuffled closer to the altar, chuckling. 

“You won’t break, little thief. The oil has prepared you for your new role, here with us,” he said, running his hand down Wyn’s back. Wyn tried to pull away from the pressure on his hole and away from the touch, but it was hopeless. The other man twisted the stone, or egg, or whatever it was, and pushed again, harder. Wyn shuddered as he felt his body start to give way, the cold, slick mass edging into him a millimeter at a time. Before to long it butted against his prostate, and his cock remained hard as his asshole was invaded. “Don’t cry, my boy,” said the leader, brushing a tear from Wyn’s cheek. “You’ll be a broodmother for Noxrius! This is a joyous occasion.” Wyn turned his face away, biting his lip as he felt the stone widen toward the middle, his rim straining, taut and stretched. He was surely going to die here, bleeding to death or suffering some rupture in his stomach. He could hear, or perhaps feel his pelvic bone  _ creak _ as an even wider part of the stone was forced inexorably inside him by the cultist, who was putting his whole weight behind it.

But the rest was smaller, slipping inside him and allowing his hole to relax by degrees. He clenched, trying to gauge if he had torn, but this only pulled the stone deeper inside him. It settled deep inside him, his stomach hanging down with the weight of it. Wyn sobbed again. It seemed he would not be granted a quick death, instead made to suffer at the whims of the cult’s master. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please give kudos and comments if you think this deserving
> 
> Please feel free to check out my website at https://kateglittoris.wordpress.com/


End file.
